


clouds with silver and copper linings

by wartransmission



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cecil," he says.</p><p>"Uh-huh?" Cecil asks, smiling as he settles his crossed feet on Carlos' own. "What is it?"</p><p>"It seems your feet are lost," Carlos answers, wiggling his toes against the soles of Cecil's feet.</p><p>"Huh," Cecil says, hiding his smile by eating a spoonful of omelette. "Mm. It seems so, doesn't it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	clouds with silver and copper linings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fandom. First fic for WTNV, so, yeah. I had a line stuck in my head ("you've ruined me for anyone else"), and then this happened. Hope you like it!

It's morning, Carlos thinks- rather, assumes, considering how Night Vale constantly ignores the written laws of nature. The sky outside is a mix of oranges and violets, with clouds literally lined by silver and something else, something coppery in color. Is that rust? He can't really be certain.

 

A groan escapes the cocoon of sheets beside him before he can move to get out of bed, and he smiles. It takes a second, a beat of his heart more before he realizes that yes, that is certainly a smile, and how odd is it that he's already gotten so used to Cecil in his bed, in his house, and in his life in general? How did he ever come to get used to Night Vale's oddities, in the first place? "Carlos," the bundle moans at him, to which he stifles a laugh when two arms creep under the sheets to wrap around his waist. "Perfect, beautiful Carlos," says Cecil, voice still tinged with languidness, "how do you always manage to wake up so early?"

 

"I make it a habit," he answers simply, using the hand closest to Cecil to lightly pet his soft and wispy hair. Cecil hums a soft soothing melody in response, and Carlos sighs. "Would you like some breakfast?"

 

"Mm, yes," Cecil says in agreement, before nuzzling his forehead into Carlos' side. "Breakfast would be lovely. Although wheat and wheat by-products-"

 

"-are illegal, I know," Carlos says, an amused smile on his face as he removes his hand from Cecil's head in favor of taking the sheets off his lap. Cecil, as expected, makes a noise of complaint. It sends something a-flutter in Carlos stomach, just a teensy bit, but he remembers that he's pushing 40 and it's ridiculous to feel this way. 

 

When he completely removes himself from the bed, which is a struggle in itself considering how the bed has a literal pull to it (that Carlos will definitely investigate later) and how Cecil is still half-holding onto him, he gets an eyeful of Cecil's put out face and it's-

 

it's-

 

-something. It's certainly something that makes him feel a little lighter, and he's certain that if he were anyone else, if he ever were a writer or a poet in another life, he'd most definitely already have the perfect words for it. 

 

Suddenly, he feels less ridiculous about... this. About Cecil, about being happy, because he smiles and Cecil mocks a moue but smiles back, and it's fine.

 

"Omelette?" He asks as he slides his feet into his slippers, and Carlos isn't sure, but it sort of feels like they're biting into his skin. He looks down, squints his eyes at the things, and finds nothing odd. Huh, well. Another thing to be figured out later.

 

"I like anything you cook," Cecil says, an ineffably sweet smile on his face as he rolls onto his back and stretches. "Also, I'll be with you in a moment," he adds, not at all reacting to the growls his bed suddenly emits.

 

"Sure," he answers, raising an eyebrow at Cecil when he lightly pets the bed, almost as if to soothe it. He shakes his head when he remembers that he's in Night Vale, that things are always going to be odd in this little desert town, and if he thinks of it too much he'll definitely go crazy. "In a moment," he repeats to himself, half in a daze as he makes careful steps down the stairs into the kitchen.

 

He ignores the large protruding eye in the corner of the kitchen, just by the fridge, as he cracks some eggs and gets to work on breakfast. Purple comes to mind for some odd inexplicable reason when he finishes serving the food on the table, the only word that he can think of to describe the eye, and once he realizes it for what it is, that he's defining feelings with colors now, he immediately scurries to his lab coat, folded neatly on one of the dining room chairs, and grabs his notepad and eye-liner (he had to make do with something else, considering the ban on writing implements) to write the realization down.

 

It says,

 

_0513 hours_

 

_The color purple was thought to define the eye in the corner of the kitchen, which was previously seen in the living room wall. Perhaps an acclimation to Night Vale?_

 

"Carlos, what ever are you doing?"

 

Carlos jolts to attention at that, almost dropping his pen as he turns to face Cecil. "I-I just noted some observations, nothing especially crucial," he answers with a sheepish smile, holding the notepad open to be looked at when Cecil moves closer to him.

 

"Oh! This is definitely good news," Cecil says, and Carlos can't help a laugh. If he didn't know better, he might have even said that it was slightly hysterical-sounding. "Carlos, I do think this means that Night Vale is accepting you as one of us- as it should, of course."

 

"I- yeah, I suppose so," says Carlos, taking back the notepad and returning it into his coat-pocket. "I'm already done with the omelette, so." He pauses, blinking when Cecil continues smiling at him. "Let's eat?"

 

"Yes," Cecil answers, still smiling. Carlos moves for the kitchen, glances at Cecil from the corners of his eyes and notices the tattoos on his skin shifting, sliding along Cecil's unnaturally smooth skin, but they're back to being unmoving when Cecil joins him in the table and sits across from him. He can't ever be certain if his mind is playing tricks on him anymore, not in this sort of place.

 

The scary thing, though? It's the fact that he's okay (or, at least, some semblance of okay) with all of this, with all of the scientific laws being broken without much warning, with all of these events that make no sense or deaths that happen almost daily because of- because of what, really? He can't seem to remember.

 

"Carlos," Cecil says, voice all silk and sonorousness, and Carlos blinks. "A penny for your thoughts, perhaps?"

 

"I don't really remember," Carlos says, frowning to himself, until he looks down and sees the foot sliding its way along his leg. He coughs, hiding his smile with his fist as he looks up at Cecil. "Cecil," he says.

 

"Uh-huh?" Cecil asks, smiling as he settles his crossed feet on Carlos' own. "What is it?"

 

"It seems your feet are lost," Carlos answers, wiggling his toes against the soles of Cecil's feet.

 

"Huh," Cecil says, hiding his smile by eating a spoonful of omelette. "Mm. It seems so, doesn't it?"

 

Carlos laughs, shakes his head, before going back to his eating.

 

(Sometimes, he has to wonder what it would be like if he were to live outside of Night Vale again. He has to wonder for his psychological health, for his life, if he'd ever be able to live normally after living through all the horrors of this desert town.

 

But he looks around, really looks, and sees Cecil, who loves him as much as he loves Night Vale, who smiles at him for no reason at all, other than the fact that he exists, that he's in Cecil's life.

 

It feels like he's been ruined for any other town, for any other person, and surprisingly enough?

 

He's just fine with that.)

 


End file.
